Bridging the Gap
by AllisonfromRavenclaw
Summary: You wish I was Sirius.' Two weeks into summer holiday, Harry recieves a visit from his former professor and discovers that even when life seems unbearable...you're not really alone when it comes to grief.


"BOY!  The door, answer the door!"

"Oh never mind, Vernon, I'll answer it—"

"That boy's ruddy _useless_ these past two weeks!  Lazy little ingrate won't even leave his room to answer the door!  I won't stand for it anymore, as if we haven't got better things to—_Who are you?_"

Harry, lying on his bed and staring listlessly at the ceiling, was dutifully ignoring the voices drifting up through the floorboards of his bedroom.  Ruddy useless, was he?  Harry Potter, the lazy little ingrate who hadn't left his bedroom for a period longer than half an hour since he'd been home this summer, had better things to do than to trudge downstairs and answer the door for his aunt and uncle, do their dishes, weed their garden, or eat their food, for that matter.  For instance, he was making excellent use of his time right now; recounting the cracks in the ceiling that he had counted night before last, he had come to the conclusion that before long his ceiling would no doubt crash in over his head and bury him in rubble, as the number of cracks seemed to have increased by five since his last counting.

Well, it was a hopeful thought, anyway.

Whoever was at the door seemed to be speaking in a calm, quiet sort of way, which was a severe contrast to Uncle Vernon's steadily rising tone.

"What do you want with him?  I tell you, we haven't been _mistreating_ him or any of that rubbish you all bandied about at King's—"

He seemed to have been cut off by the softer voice.  Harry strained to hear whose voice it was; they were obviously here to see him, but on the off chance it was a less than pleasant visitor, like Snape delivering him a message of some sort, he thought he rather preferred feigning sleep for as long as he could get away with it.

"Fine, he's upstairs in his bedroom… I'd call him down but it'd be bloody pointless, he hasn't been out all morning…"

Harry could hear footsteps creaking up the stairs.  He groaned; with his luck, it was sure to be Snape.  He scrambled off his bed to shove a pair of pants under it and to shut the door to the black hole that was his closet.

When he had accomplished this, there was a soft knock on his bedroom door.

"Harry?"

Harry's heart rose slightly.  It wasn't Snape at all; it was—

"Professor Lupin!" said Harry, pulling open his door and smiling for the first time all summer.

"How are you, Harry?" said Lupin, stepping inside.  He looked very sallow and thin, and the muggle clothes he donned were ragged.  He was smiling, but his eyes swept over Harry in some concern, probably noting the way Dudley's old t-shirt hung off him even more loosely than usual.

Harry glanced sideways at the mirror by his window and realized with a jolt that he was even paler than Lupin, and much thinner; there was a very definite shadow beneath his cheekbones now, and his collarbone was jutting sharply from the stretched out neck of his shirt.

"I'm okay," said Harry, forcing his smile to widen.  Lupin raised an eyebrow.  "Alright, I'm terrible," Harry sighed, dropping resignedly onto the end of his unmade bed as Lupin removed a pair of trousers from the lid of his trunk to sit on it.  "But how have you been?"

            "Much the same, I'm afraid," said Lupin sadly.  He paused, gazing down at his hands.  "I came to have a chat with Arabella Figg— Professor Dumbledore likes us to avoid owling as much as possible," he added as Harry made to ask the very question, "—nothing big, just telling her to keep an eye on your aunt and uncle, see they're treating you right," he smiled wryly.  "So I thought I may as well stop by."

            "Thanks," said Harry, feeling somewhat touched by the fact that Lupin had gone so far out of his way to make sure he was all right.  Though he suspected, and by the look of his former professor he guessed he wasn't far off target, that Lupin himself was in need of a little company.  He realized with a pang how lonely Lupin's life must suddenly seem, with his only real friend once more absent from it.  And permanently, this time.

            There was a long and slightly awkward silence, during which Harry and Lupin gazed without focus in vaguely opposite directions.  Harry wished Lupin would speak, say something cheerful, tell him some of Dung's latest anecdotes or whether he had been into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley yet…something to distract him from the fact that the presence of this ragged, lonely man sitting before him seemed to be a reflection of himself, forcing him to remember why it was so hard to wake up every morning when he knew that all that awaited him was another painful day…

            The hard, compact ball of grief Harry carried around with him in his chest was beginning to blossom, constricting his throat and causing his hands to quiver.  He clenched them together and swallowed rather more loudly than he had intended, drawing Lupin's attention.  He looked up at Harry, and then, comprehension dawning on his face, he stood rather abruptly.

            "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, "I shouldn't've come—"

            "No!" Harry heard himself say, "no, I—I was just—I'm glad you came, it's just—"

            "You wish I was Sirius."

            Harry flinched, feeling the impact of that name burst in his chest.  "No…" he said dumbly, but then he realized he couldn't bring himself to lie.  "Yes," he corrected himself shakily.  "Yeah, I do wish…"

            Lupin nodded, his eyes closed.  Suddenly Harry realized the full meaning of what he had just said.  "Oh, God," he said quickly, horrorstruck, "I didn't mean…I don't mean I wish that you had…that you had…instead of Siri—"

            "I know," said Lupin quietly, opening his eyes.  "You just miss him."

            Harry nodded, clenching his jaw against the horrible knot of pain that was moving steadily up inside his throat.  "Yeah," he attempted to say, but all that came out was an incoherent croak.  He quickly looked down at his knees, swallowing furiously, clenching his hands on the edge of the mattress.  Then he felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder.

            "I miss him too," whispered Lupin shakily.  Harry looked up at him and realized that Lupin's eyes were shining with unshed tears.  "He was…the best friend I ever had."

            Harry nodded again, not daring to attempt to use his voice.  He felt a single hot tear slide out the inside corner of his eye against his will.

            "Stand up," said Lupin in a strange voice.  Harry did so, looking ashamedly down at the floor and wiping away the escaped tear rather violently with the back of his hand.  

"Sorry," he began to say, but before he could even open his mouth Lupin had pulled him into a tight embrace.  Harry froze, his shoulders tense, his right arm pinned against his chest.  Then the knot inside his throat exploded.

Taking in a great, shuddering gasp, Harry clumsily wedged his arm out from between them and returned his hug, his hands clenching into fists at Lupin's back.  Then Lupin's shoulders began to twitch spasmodically, and Harry realized that he was crying.  A ragged sob escaped his own throat, and Harry buried his face in Lupin's shoulder.

Harry didn't know how much time passed, standing there as violent sobs ripped through him, feeling every ounce of the collected pain he'd been feeling ever since his godfather died being torn out of him with each shuddering gasp.  He was even only very slightly aware of Dudley walking noisily past his open bedroom door, stopping dead in front of it and gaping at the pair of them for at least thirty seconds.  He knew he would be given hell for it later, but somehow it didn't matter… All that mattered was that he sob every last shred of sorrow left in him out into Lupin's shoulder, cry until he had no more tears, and be done with it.

And when, finally, that moment came, Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, loosened his grip on his former professor, and stepped back from him.

Lupin's eyes were bloodshot, the premature lines of his face shining with the tears they had caught, and he was still shaking slightly, but he smiled weakly.

Harry smiled back, his own face wet, feeling unbelievably…light.

They both took a moment to sniff and wipe their faces, and then Lupin took a deep breath and said, "thank you."

Harry opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say.  Lupin was thanking him, when he was the one who had come to see Harry, to make sure he was being treated fairly…when he was the one who had made the horrible burden that had been weighing on Harry's soul finally, _finally_, disperse…  He made to say something of the sort, but Lupin smiled again, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "I'd better get going, then."

"Ah," said Harry stupidly.

He followed Lupin downstairs and to the door, ignoring his aunt's beady stare as she walked past them to the living room.

"Thanks for coming," said Harry, meaning it.  Lupin squeezed his shoulder again.

"You'll be okay," he said knowingly.

"Time heals all wounds, right?" said Harry slightly bitterly.

"No," said Lupin.  "It doesn't.  But I guess we all have to learn to bridge the gap in our lives somehow, to keep on going."  He sighed, looking at Harry distantly, as though seeing someone else standing in his place.  "Even if it takes fifteen years."

Harry nodded, only partially understanding what Lupin had said.

"'Bye, Professor Lupin."

"I haven't been your professor in two years, Harry," chuckled Lupin.  "You're free to start calling me Remus if you like."

"I'll work on that," Harry grinned.

"I'll see you soon, Harry."

"Yeah."

"Goodbye."

"'Bye."

            He shut the door behind him and sighed, watching his blurry outline fade away as he departed.

            An instant later Aunt Petunia was upon him.  "What was that about?" she snapped.  "Who was that?  What did he want?"

            "Oh, nothing really," said Harry, his eyes still on the door.  A small smile was creeping onto his face.  "Just seeing how I was doing, telling Mrs. Figg to keep an eye on you, that sort of thing…"

            As Aunt Petunia's eyes widened in horrible realization, Harry let out a bark of laughter similar to the laugh of someone he had once known, and tore back up the stairs to his bedroom.  He slammed the door just as her shrill voice echoed downstairs:

            "VERNON…!"


End file.
